


Voluntary Stupidity

by equestrianstatue



Category: due South
Genre: Canon-Typical Not Talking About It, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:15:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25338226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/equestrianstatue/pseuds/equestrianstatue
Summary: And then, suddenly— wham, Ray’s brain does a mangled video rewind screech, and all the thoughts come slamming in all at once. And there are a lot of them, and most of them are more like yelling than thoughts, because he’s just— Ray’s just— he put his mouth on Fraser’s mouth, and—All that pent up energy in the bank vault has to go somewhere.
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Ray Vecchio
Comments: 9
Kudos: 38





	Voluntary Stupidity

**Author's Note:**

> Set during episode 2x02, Vault.

Fraser feels cold against him. That’s the thing Ray keeps thinking. It’s the first thought he has, and for a while, it’s the only thought he’s got. Fraser’s face is really cold. Fraser’s soaked through— they both are— and the chill of the water has got right into his skin, just like it has into Ray’s.

Well, sure, if Ray’s cold, it figures that Fraser’s cold too. Only most of the time, it doesn’t work like that. If Ray’s out of breath, Fraser’s barely broken a sweat. If Ray’s covered in garbage, Fraser looks like he just got dry-cleaned. So if Ray’s cold, Fraser ought to be nice and toasty. Must be how he survives up in the Great Frozen Wastes, got his own little heat-generator somewhere inside him, in place of one of the organs or bits of guts that normal people need.

But no: his face is cold, and the sodden cloth of his shirt is cold. It’s not until Ray’s lips have been pressed up against Fraser’s for a moment, for a few more moments, that Ray begins to feel them warming up. And that’s more like it, the sensation of Fraser warm and alive against him. That’s the guy Ray knows.

And then, suddenly— _wham_ , Ray’s brain does a mangled video rewind screech, and all of the other thoughts that _aren’t_ how cold Fraser is come slamming in all at once. And there are a lot of them, and most of them are more like yelling than thoughts, because he’s just— _Ray’s_ just— he put his mouth on Fraser’s mouth, and—

Ray stumbles backwards, hearing the wash of water moving behind him. His breath’s coming short, heart hammering, like he’s out of breath or in danger, the kind of feeling that makes him want to pull his gun. He can’t see. There’s water in his eyes. And in his hair, down the back of his neck, everywhere. Ray blinks it furiously away.

Fraser is staring at him. His mouth is hanging open, his lower lip curved below the surprised gap of it. Water is running down his face too. After a moment, he wipes it out of his eyes, and he takes a breath like he’s going to say something. But then he doesn’t.

All Ray had wanted, really, was for Fraser to listen to him, for once. For Fraser to cut the bullshit, the well-actually-I-know-better-than-you-Ray attitude— not that he ever _says_ that, but it’s what he’s saying underneath all the ten-syllable words that _do_ come out of his mouth. No matter how many times Fraser walks them straight into the middle of ridiculous situations like this one, and no matter how many times Ray saves his stupid ass, still he doesn’t listen. Doesn’t pay attention.

Sometimes— most of the time— Ray thinks Fraser’s the best friend he ever had. Sometimes he thinks he’s barely human. Maybe he wanted to check which one it was, for sure. Though this isn’t exactly how he’d meant to go about it.

Anyway, Fraser’s still staring at him. His tongue flicks out against his bottom lip, and still he doesn’t say anything. So, what do you know. Benton Fraser speechless at last.

It can’t last forever. But when he does speak, all Fraser says is, “—Ray.” It’s weird, the way he says it. Not the way he Fraser usually says his name, not _any_ of the ways Fraser usually says his name. It sounds surprised and a little strangled, but sort of soft, too. Almost kind.

Ray kind of hates it, actually. Hates that Fraser can look him in the eye, right after Ray went berserk and kissed him in the middle of a bank heist death trap, and then sound like that. Ray would maybe prefer it if they could keep on arguing, or, even better, if Fraser could get mad at him. Or at least freak out. Ask Ray what the hell he thinks he’s playing at.

But he can’t even imagine the words coming out of Fraser’s mouth. And Ray realizes, suddenly, urgently, that whatever Fraser _is_ going to say next, there is no way in hell he wants to hear it. There’s no good way out of this. A locked room with no door that Ray wants to _un_ lock. Though it’s Ray, for once, who’s put them there.

“Don’t,” Ray says, feeling like he’s swallowing his own tongue. He holds up a hand, waves it in front of Fraser. “Don’t say a word.”

Fraser takes a deep breath like he’s about to launch into a whole _paragraph_ , let alone a word, and Ray feels his insides start knotting themselves together in panic. But then Fraser stops again, and doesn’t say anything. He frowns, like he doesn’t know what to do.

Ray watches the twitch in Fraser’s brow as he plays out some internal argument with himself, but then he guesses one side of it wins, and Fraser says, “Ray, you must know that I— that is to say, I had assumed— ah, well, based on assessment of the available evidence, it had never occurred to me that— ”

“Stop,” says Ray, “stop talking.” He’s waving his arms in the air, and he has this impulse to just push his hand right over Fraser’s mouth to stop him. Only that would mean touching Fraser’s mouth again, and he can’t think about— “Shut up, Benny, I’m asking you to shut up.”

Fraser’s voice cuts out, mid-way through a breath. At least he’s listening, for once. His hair is plastered to his head, sleek and wet.

“So, that was crazy,” Ray says, after a moment, wrenching the words out of his throat. “I’m not thinking straight, here. I’m freaking out. We’re gonna die in thirty minutes—” Ray throws his arm up, in the direction of the sprinkler— “and I’m going a little nuts, okay?”

“We’re not going to die,” Fraser says. It comes out almost automatically, although it’s not quite the same tone as the thirty other times he’s said it today. Somehow it doesn’t get under Ray’s skin so much, the way that Fraser usually does when he talks like he has the whole damn world under his control. No, this time it’s quieter, and— he sounds kind, again. “Ray? You’re not going to die.”

“Tell that to my funeral on Thursday,” says Ray.

Ray turns and wades slowly and angrily in the direction of a bench he can still just about sit down on, although when he does, the water comes up to his chest. He feels hot-cold and stupid and like someone’s just shot at him and missed. He’s shaking a little.

“All right,” says Fraser, over the sound of the water.

“What?”

“I said: all right. I’m honored to be delivering your eulogy.”

Ray laughs, short and hysterical, and rubs his hands over his face. When he looks over at Fraser again, Fraser’s looking back at him.

“Understood, Ray,” he says.

“What is?”

Fraser takes a deep breath, and looks around the vault, and then clears his throat. “Your— not thinking straight.”

“Yeah, well.” Ray lets his head thud back against the metal cabinet behind him. His heart is slowing down, just a little. “People do deranged things, you know, in the face of death.”

Fraser nods, and says, “Shortly before his passing, my great uncle Tiberius is said to have assembled all the tinned provisions in his home into a portrait of Prime Minister Trudeau.”

“Oh yeah?” says Ray. He lets his hands float up to the surface of the water, drifting there, palms down.

“According to family legend,” says Fraser, and Ray closes his eyes and lets Fraser tells the story.


End file.
